A Soldier's Question: Spring, 1917
CURSE I the Spring that God has sent
Raising such discord in my soul?
'Twas fitter when the winter's blast
Could lash my spirit to the mast
And send me drugged by brute control
To battle with a grim content!
Then Death took hold on the neck of Life
And Earth's rough scalp lay touzled and scarred.
And the winter-scream swept round me fierce—
The softer visions to disperse—
While stripped by storms I stood on guard
Cleaving the wind with keener knife.
But now with Spring to dream or grieve
I am tempted, and the blushful day
Reveals her old-time beauty, far
From mating with the ghost of War.
Am I then laggard if I pray
From this soul's scaffold quick reprieve?